


O, Why Not Tonight?

by northdakotaa (bagofhamiltrashandnope_ember)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Churches & Cathedrals, Closeted Character, Implied Sexual Themes, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, bad’s father is a preacher/minister, maybe???, only one paragraph tho, religious trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagofhamiltrashandnope_ember/pseuds/northdakotaa
Summary: In which BadBoyHalo reflects on his pursuits as a closeted gay man while visiting his family for the holidays.This has no relation to the real life of Bad or Skeppy. I thought I should clarify because this is a kind of, sort of weighted topic for some people?
Relationships: Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Kudos: 90





	O, Why Not Tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> yeah ❤️

Bad stood in the pews of the church auditorium, hearing his father’s voice echo throughout the small auditorium. He didn’t belong here, he was no more than a sinner, and no matter how good of a man his father was, he would always be some form of a disappointment. He didn’t ask to be a preacher’s son, and he certainly didn’t ask to be in the place they called the deep south. He pulled his head down, placing it on the back of a pew. There wasn’t any saving him.  
The first time he kissed a man was magic to him, and despite his girlfriends he had kisses in the past, he never felt quite right until that moment. The Bible laying on his desk got pushed aside, and he stopped trying to be something he clearly was not.  
Soon, when he had met Skeppy, everything clicked. The magic of the first time they met up, the simple pleasure of being in a cookie cutter Starbucks or Walmart and just giggling about God knows what. God. The Lord. He knew one thing that haunted him when he was around his family. The moment they were watching “The Notebook” and Skeppy brushed his fingertips against Bad’s cheek when they made eye contact for a second. The way Skeppy’s jet black hair was just like cashmere and smelled like the familiar scents of vanilla. The warmth that came into his stomach when they kissed. The body heat that came soon after. The way Bad had ran his hands on Skeppy’s back afterwards.  
It all danced in Bad’s mind as he looked back up at his father, wondering if he was righteous in the eyes of God. He didn’t want validation, and he didn’t want to be babied by people because he had struggles with religion. He wanted to be accepted by the people he loved.  
He was twenty-five, visiting his parents for the holidays, not yet out of the closet after five full years of relationships with men, one of which being taken up by Skeppy.  
What was he to do? He was only a weak man. He never enjoyed the weight judgement from anyone he loved.  
The immense guilt he had was choking him, and he was crying out for air. He didn’t know if he could stand it.  
He looked back up at the podium on the stage as his father flicked off the light and shut his Bible.  
“If you or a loved one are searching to repent this morning, you are invited to attend our worship services at five o’clock and evening bible study on Wednesday nights at six. Tim, please lead our invitation song while we sing,” his father was always concise when ending his sermons.  
“All who wish may stand.”  
Bad got the leather-bound songbook out from under the pew, opening to the invitation song, and standing up straight, but he didn’t sing or mouth a single word. It didn’t feel right.  
The final words of the chorus of the hymn, “O, why not tonight?” rang through his head after they finished the song,  
and his father came up to do the prayer.  
And when prayer came, he opened his eyes, keeping his head tilted down and fidgeting with his fingers.  
Tonight, he wouldn’t be anything but a sinner. That was okay. God loved him, right?


End file.
